Chapter 11 · The Key That Lies

The underground lock market smells like burnt metal and desperation.

Mara keeps her head down, one hand clutching the strap of her tool bag, the other pressed against her ribs where the judge mark's already crawled past her collarbone. Her fingertips are numb. She can't feel the pulse in her wrist anymore. But she can feel Julian's heartbeat echoing somewhere behind her sternum, steady and too damn calm for a man who just took on six hounds alone.

She doesn't let herself think about whether he's still standing.

The market's packed tonight. Every fence and broker in Greyhaven's down here, hawking lockpicks and blank contracts and blood ink that probably came out of someone who didn't volunteer it. Mara weaves through the crowd, scanning faces. Most of them don't look up. A few do, and their eyes snag on her hand before they turn away fast.

Word travels quick when the bells call your name.

She spots Nia's stall near the back, tucked between a man selling rusted cage keys and a woman who deals in execution tower blueprints. Nia's leaning against the wooden counter, arms crossed, mouth tight. She sees Mara coming and doesn't smile.

"You're late," Nia says.